My friends, who are passionate philologists, often say that generalizations should be
avoided because they are usually inaccurate. However, I've never heard anyone say they
can't stand trees. So perhaps you can forgive me if I say that everyone loves trees? At
worst, they simply don't give them much thought. They don't notice the air. It's there,
so what?
Personally, I love trees. I always have, since childhood. So, this is a story about the
trees in my yard.
I was lucky to be born and raised in a private house in a small town where nature waged
an active (and, it's worth noting, successful) battle against concrete and asphalt. This
was partly due to the fact that the soils on which Starobilsk was built were too soft.
So any attempts to build high-rise buildings ended with structures settling and becoming
dangerous. Thanks to this, nature always played a prominent role in the portrait of my
city. The treetops here mostly tower above the roofs rather than the other way around,
as is the case in big cities.
The trees in my yard include walnut, apricot, peach, and plum. There used to be a cherry
tree, but unfortunately, its time has passed. Actually, our yard was shared with the
neighbors, so it had a somewhat eclectic look: there were lilacs and potatoes, onions
and peonies, currants and zucchinis. Reconciling who wanted to plant what and where was
a challenging task (hello, Aunt Tanya). Among the tomatoes and roses, I grew up, taking
my own neutral position: I couldn't stand cucumbers, nor potatoes. Children don't always
enjoy taking care of plants. But loving a garden is a task with a star. Trees, on the
other hand, required little work (and their fruits were always delicious).
Each tree is a sun. It is the center of its own universe, where everything revolves
around it. Each tree is a witness to time, a witness to change.
My trees remember the times before my birth, they've seen me grow up. My games, my
secrets. How I hid in their shade, a temporary companion, scribbling on the surrounding
walls with chalk. And finally, just climbing their branches.
They will probably outlive me, serene as ever. People love stars. Stars don't care. But
the matter isn't about reciprocity, is it?
The first picture of the walnut was taken in the fall of 2021. I don't know why.
Returning late in the evening from the street, I was enchanted by how it looked in the
misty light of the street lamps: somber, majestic, yet familiar — safe. I wanted to find
that shot that could contain all my memories, all thoughts and feelings associated with
it. Simple desire. Complex task.
Since that evening, much time has passed, and even more events. A full-scale invasion
began, my yard and my entire city — occupied. And I deviated from orbit, not forgetting,
however, the sun that mattered to me.
This project is about trees that found me on the way from home. The photographs here are
fragments, glimpses where you can (out of the corner of your eye) see the reflection of
a distant yard. Here's the apricot, so similar to the one my neighbor once planted. And
here's the plum, resembling mine. But where's the walnut?
Today, the whole country is my yard. My trees stretch from the Carpathians to Kharkiv,
from Kyiv to Odesa.
